


Bibliophilia

by cordelia_gray



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Library Sex, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-18
Updated: 2010-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-18 01:27:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/183447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordelia_gray/pseuds/cordelia_gray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I've had this dream for years, you blowing me in a library."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bibliophilia

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the The SPN/CWRPF [Blow Me(Me)](http://community.livejournal.com/vel_etc/13274.html), for [](http://velvetine01.livejournal.com/profile)[**velvetine01**](http://velvetine01.livejournal.com/) 's prompt _Sam/Dean - libraries: Sam has this recurring dream about Dean blowing him in a library. And then it happens._  
> 

  
Sam's always loved libraries.  
 

When he was little, they lived life on the road – cars, motels, crappy one-bedroom apartments, falling-down clapboard houses or trailer parks on the outskirts of mid-sized Midwestern towns. But even the crappiest of those towns had public libraries. Even the most underfunded of the many schools he attended had a room full of books somewhere, a sanctuary of peace and order and cleanliness. They were his refuge and his haven all those years.

The libraries at Stanford were the thing he loved best about the place. There were dozens, but Green Library was the best – the reading room a vast, high-ceilinged space like a church, filled with golden light and silence and the hum of knowledge.

That's when the dreams started. He was so lonely that first year, before he made friends, met Jess. He had walked away from everything he had ever known into this life, and sometimes he missed Dean and Dad so much it was like a physical ache. He wasn't “homesick” exactly, he had no home to miss, but Dean was home and love and comfort, all those things he'd left behind. The first time he dreamed of it - Dean on his knees for him in the hush of the empty library, that golden light burnishing his skin, green eyes glowing with love – he'd woken hard and aching, and cried himself to sleep. But it happened again, and this time he told himself it was OK, it was just his subconscious trying to integrate the aspects of his life. It didn't really mean that Sam was a sick bastard with an unhealthy incestuous fixation on his older brother. He took what comfort from the dream he could and tried not to think about it.

Years later, Sam has come to terms with the fact that he is a sick bastard with an unhealthy incestuous fixation on his older brother. Fortunately, the feeling is mutual, and Sam doesn't even really feel guilty about it anymore. They get little enough comfort in this world, why not take what they can give each other? He still loves libraries, of course, though mostly they're places he works now, rather than places of refuge. He still gets that dream a few times a year, Dean shoving him up against the stacks, dropping to his knees, wrapping those lush lips around Sam's dick.

He's having the dream now, actually, not the Stanford library this time but something darker, more ornate, filled with ancient texts and warrens of shelving in which anything could be lost.

“It's here.” Sam says, in the dream. “I've just got to find that one book, and then we can fix everything. Every thing's going to be OK.”

Dean gazes at him, eyes big and shining with trust.

“I know, Sammy. You'll find it. You're so smart.”

Dean's hands are all over him, and Sam feels like a million dollars right now. He knows it's a dream, kind of a ridiculous one really, Dean would never look at him like that in real life, but it feels so good. Dean's hands are moving down his body, reaching for his cock. Sam groans and thrusts his hips forward.

“Workin' hard, research boy?”

Dean's voice is amused, sarcastic. Sam struggles into consciousness. He's in a library right now, he realizes. Not any of the ones from his dreams, just a pretty ordinary college library in an ordinary Midwestern college town, full of fluorescent light and first-year psych texts. Bobby sent them here, they have a small but impressive collection of occult books donated by some eccentric alumnus, and Bobby thought they had something in Enochian that might help. Sam's been reading for hours, though, and there's nothing useful, just the crazed rantings of some ancient priest. He's fallen asleep in the study carrel. He thinks he may possibly have been drooling.

Dean is standing in a shaft of sunlight from a nearby window, and in that instant he looks just like the Dean from his dreams. Older, tired, but still so beautiful. Sam is seized for a moment with unbearable gratitude that after all they've been through, all they've done for (and to) each other, that Dean is still here, still with him. He's still caught up in the threads of the dream, and for a moment all he can do is stare at his brother and smile like an idiot.

Dean's looking at him, smiling back, this soft fond expression Sam hardly ever sees anymore. Sam loves him so much it hurts, sometimes.

“C'mon, geekboy, time for a break.” Dean ruffles his hair with an affectionate hand. “Let's get some food and coffee in you.”

Sam thinks this is an excellent idea, but there is one small (not-so-small) problem: the interrupted dream has left him with a raging hard-on, and he's not sure how to get out of here without sharing this fact with Dean and whoever else might be around. He grumbles, tries to pull himself together, tries to shield his crotch from Dean with his laptop. But this is _Dean_ : no way of slipping something like that past him.

“Good dreams, Sammy?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Sam grins: he can't help it.

“Umm, yeah...” he mumbles, blushing.

Dean's moving right up into his personal space now, smirking a little.

“And what do nerds like you have dreams about, hmm?” He's moving right up to Sam, now, pressing him back into the study chair.

“Sexy librarians in cute skirts and glasses? You know that's hot.” He's licking his lips, and Sam can barely focus now, he's so turned on.

“It was you, actually,” he mutters, blushing.

“Me?” Dean says. “You were dreaming about me?” His voice is slightly shaky, the amused, flirtatious mask slipping a little. Sometimes Sam really doesn't get how a man like Dean can have such low self-esteem. He knows how it happened, he was there, but it's still beyond his comprehension at times like this.

“Yeah.” Sam says, and he knows his voice is getting lower, growly, the way it does when he's turned on.

“I've had this dream for years, you blowing me in a library. So hot, Dean you have no idea.”

Dean's eyes have turned dark and predatory. Sam can feel the heat coming of his body now, can see that Dean's just as hard in his jeans as Sam is.

“I think it's time that geek-boy got his little fantasy fulfilled.” Dean's voice has dropped to a hoarse whisper. “You want me to suck you? Right here, right now? Get on my knees for you?”

Sam doesn't think he can take much more of this, he's going to cream his jeans if Dean keeps talking like that. He tries to say, “Yes, please,” but he thinks it comes out as more of a moan.

Dean looks around – this area of the library is restricted access, and it's almost the end of term, most students have already gone home. They are alone, bookshelves shielding them from view of the librarian's desk. Dean swings the chair around and drops to his knees under the study carrel. He's fumbling with Sam's belt buckle and zipper, and Sam is hanging on to the arm of the chair, stuffing the other hand into his mouth to muffle the breathless noises he can't seem to stop making.

Dean finally gets his jeans open, and Sam's cock springs free.

“Look at that, so hot, so hard for me, Sammy,” he's saying, and Sam loves it, he does, but he really just wants Dean to stop talking already and get his dick in his mouth.

Dean's teasing him, licking and nipping with his lips, soft little touches that are driving Sam utterly wild.

“Dean, please, please,” he's begging now, terrified that someone will come by at any moment and driven to utter distraction by the sight of those perfect plump lips on him. His hands are fluttering helplessly around Dean's head, touching, pulling.

Dean says “All right, I got you Sam, gonna suck you now.” And he does, perfect wet heat and suction all the way down. He pulls back just a little, using a hand to jack the base while his head bobs up and down at the tip, tongue playing the underside.

Sam knows he's not going to last, it's too good, too much. Dean's got his eyes closed now, sucking Sam down like he's a starving man and this is his last meal.

“Dean!” gasps Sam, holding his head between his palms. “I'm gonna, gonna...” Dean's eyes flutter open fixed on Sam's, and Sam is sure he can see the ghost of a smile in those stretched-out, perfect lips. And then he is coming, long slow pulses into Dean's mouth, and Dean's swallowing it down, working him through the aftershocks. He pulls back and licks his lips, eyes still locked on Sam's. When Sam is able to breathe again, he leans down and pulls Dean into a long, tongue-locked kiss, tasting himself on Dean's lips. It's possibly the best thing ever, right until Dean pulls back and says “Shh! Someone's coming.”

Then it's a frantic scramble to get Sam zipped up, get their things, both of them giggling madly as they bolt discreetly for the nearest men's room. Dean shoves Sam against the wall, kissing frantically and rubbing his denim-clad crotch against Sam's leg until he comes, panting. They clean up as best they can in the washroom, laughing, shoving shoulders, breathless. Sam can't remember being this happy in – ever, maybe.

Later, in the car, Dean looks over to him with a smirk.

“So, back there – that was like, one of your big unfulfilled sex fantasies?”

He's quirking an eyebrow at Sam. Sam sighs, getting ready for a lot more “geekboy” jokes.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling. “Yeah, it was.”

“And was it totally awesome, or what?”

“Dude, you were there. You know it was!”

“So, this means you have to do one of mine now, right?”

He's grinning widely, like a little boy, and Sam has to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying “anything you want,” because this is Dean, and you don't give him that kind of ammo no matter how good an orgasm he just gave you.

“Sure, I guess it does.” Sam smiles. “But I'm telling you right now, if there are clowns involved, I'm not doing it.”

Dean pouts for a minutes, then brightens.

“How do you feel about road head?”


End file.
